Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1887-05-07

HE PLACED ONE HAND ON BERNARDINO.
softly away and walked on and on, never
once stopping, except for an occasional bit
of rest or to beg chunk of brown bread
and a cup of water, until he was safe in the
City Of Lilies. Once in Florence he was
content, despite his absolute poverty. He
knew that no one would ever come there
who had known him in the quarries, and
there was nothing else which he feared or
dreaded.
When he fled from the mountains he had
thought that all would be well with him If
he could only reach Florence. Just how to
put himself in position of comfort he did
not know. That there was a way he had no
doubt, if he could only find it. He had
never yet been confronted with failure, be-
cause he had never yet attempted anything
beyond his easy reach. But to be young and
hungry and alone in Florence, with no one
to whom he could turn for bread, and with
no trade by which he could earn bread, that
was quite another matter. Still, since he had
not yet learned that there was so grave and
dreadful a thing as disappointment in the
world, he, in his utter ignorance and uncon-
seriousness of life, felt that he was ready to
proceed by whatever pathway was opened
to him, never dreaming but that some path
way would be opened to him.
His bright handsome face, so young, in
nocent and delicate; his great, frank brown
eyes, and long, jetty hair; his exquisite
shape and graceful carriage. and, more than
all, his divine smile and musical voice, won
for him admiration and attention, and so
made his way easier. No one refused him
the little he wanted in the way of food and
drink, and neither was he refused place to
sleep; but when he talked of sustaining
himself by means of the little he knew
about art they laughed at him. Not deris-
ively but goOd-naturedly and out of pity.
That, they told him, was the easiest of all
ways of starving. To make art pay, they
said, one must have fortune to start with.
Bernardino sighed. He had thought all
along that art was enough But to need a
fortune at the outset, that was very hard.
IF you were only in Rome. now, instead
of in Florence, you might, as helper to some
sculptor, support yourself There is no
other way. But here in Florence even that
is impossible" said an old wrinkled and
griZzled dealer in bronZes and marbles.
"Altro" cried strong voice, in disgust,
"Who dares speak such vile SANDER against
Florence, the very mother of art! When
has she ever denied her artists living?"
'"Tornello" whispered the loungers in the
shop, staring at the newcomer. 'Tornello-
the sculptor"
There was a blaze of mingled contempt
and anger in Tornello's eyes and a curl of
scorn on his lips. He did not wait for all
answer, but placed one hand upon Ber-
narulnOS shoulder ana looked straight INTO
the boys eyes, first wonderingly and then
tenderly.
Don't let them discourage you with their
idle croaking," he said. "1f you have any
instinct of art, you need have no fear. What
can you do?"
81 can cut leaves and flowers and vines
out of stone, and can make them as much
like life as those in the churches"
Tornello smiled, but restrained himself
when he saw tendency to laughter in those
about him. The boys frankness pleased
him. 1t took him back to the sweet old
days when he, too, had faith in himself.
"Come with me-" he said, land tomorrow
you shall do some vines and leaves and
flowers for me-"
So they went away together.
Make me a wreath out of this" said
Tornello, touching block of tiawless mar
Bile. make me wreath of either ivy or
laurel" ----